001 ¤ [HOLO; curse missed opportunities! am I a part of the cure or am I part of the disease?]
Leonard H. McCoy had very specific reason to loathe transporters. One wrong misplaced circuit or trigger-happy technician could have devastating consequences on the person being beamed down to wherever the hell Starfleet had ordered them to go. He really did not approve of atoms being forcibly ripped apart before being intertwined together again somewhere completely different. It was mind-boggling.
His argument about this was that he was a human being, not some patchwork quilt. The doctor would have felt safer taking a shuttlecraft. And that. That was saying a lot for him; his philosophy that was man was not meant to take to the skies ever. If they had been, they would have been cursed to have wings grafted into their backs in the womb. But alas, he had lost the argument to take one of the crafts to their destination despite his numerous gripes and stepped onto the pad reluctantly. But mostly it had been a slap around his shoulder and a quip of 'buckle up' and an arched eyebrow from their green-blooded Commander of the Enterprise that had propelled him forward.
McCoy was a pessimistic man, but it was not death awaiting him on this supposed transporter malfunction today. He could later take comfort that his fate was to arrive in Taxon and not become fused together into an indescribable matter with that nameless red shirt that had stepped on the pad with him.
Particles of light seamlessly intertwined back together before they dispersed and simulated a man standing at roughly six foot on the pad. A new player had arrived, but the player in question was oblivious to his actions being broadcasted from an innocent looking tablet somewhere across the room.
His eyes were squeezed shut, his expression was grim and his lips were pursued together in a thin line before he noticed the process had ended. And for some curious reason not related to transporter, beads of sweat rested on his brow as he opened his eyes and soaked up his surroundings.
He was not pleased by the sight.
With a less than amused expression flickering across his features at the sight awaiting him, his eyes glanced around the cylinder room with thinly veiled suspicion as he went about absent-mindedly smoothing down his blue Federation uniform - not making sure he was indeed put back in the right order - before walking down the steps all too aware of his own footfalls being the only sound penetrating the eerie silence.
"Buckle up, he had said. Nothing to worry about transporters! They are much safer than a shuttle craft, he had insisted." He murmured quietly to himself as he took another step. "Goddamn it! I knew this would happen one day..."
His voice sounded incredulous with underlining annoyance as he craned his head and looked back at the offending transporter that had brought him here. It remained delightfully inoperative despite his dilemma and he did not know whether to be relieved or frustrated by these turn events.
"Right... where the hell am I?" even as he uttered this candid question that he did not expect an answer to in the vacant room sans himself, he reached for the communicator before further grumbling about landing coordinates and the technician involved in this supposed mishap, "McCoy to Enterprise. Do you read me?"
Needless to report, there was no one to answer that query of his as of yet. Not even someone there to mockingly tell him to eat static.
His argument about this was that he was a human being, not some patchwork quilt. The doctor would have felt safer taking a shuttlecraft. And that. That was saying a lot for him; his philosophy that was man was not meant to take to the skies ever. If they had been, they would have been cursed to have wings grafted into their backs in the womb. But alas, he had lost the argument to take one of the crafts to their destination despite his numerous gripes and stepped onto the pad reluctantly. But mostly it had been a slap around his shoulder and a quip of 'buckle up' and an arched eyebrow from their green-blooded Commander of the Enterprise that had propelled him forward.
McCoy was a pessimistic man, but it was not death awaiting him on this supposed transporter malfunction today. He could later take comfort that his fate was to arrive in Taxon and not become fused together into an indescribable matter with that nameless red shirt that had stepped on the pad with him.
Particles of light seamlessly intertwined back together before they dispersed and simulated a man standing at roughly six foot on the pad. A new player had arrived, but the player in question was oblivious to his actions being broadcasted from an innocent looking tablet somewhere across the room.
His eyes were squeezed shut, his expression was grim and his lips were pursued together in a thin line before he noticed the process had ended. And for some curious reason not related to transporter, beads of sweat rested on his brow as he opened his eyes and soaked up his surroundings.
He was not pleased by the sight.
With a less than amused expression flickering across his features at the sight awaiting him, his eyes glanced around the cylinder room with thinly veiled suspicion as he went about absent-mindedly smoothing down his blue Federation uniform - not making sure he was indeed put back in the right order - before walking down the steps all too aware of his own footfalls being the only sound penetrating the eerie silence.
"Buckle up, he had said. Nothing to worry about transporters! They are much safer than a shuttle craft, he had insisted." He murmured quietly to himself as he took another step. "Goddamn it! I knew this would happen one day..."
His voice sounded incredulous with underlining annoyance as he craned his head and looked back at the offending transporter that had brought him here. It remained delightfully inoperative despite his dilemma and he did not know whether to be relieved or frustrated by these turn events.
"Right... where the hell am I?" even as he uttered this candid question that he did not expect an answer to in the vacant room sans himself, he reached for the communicator before further grumbling about landing coordinates and the technician involved in this supposed mishap, "McCoy to Enterprise. Do you read me?"
Needless to report, there was no one to answer that query of his as of yet. Not even someone there to mockingly tell him to eat static.